ilippa shook her head. "It was not enough. I wore my best frock, and
I went to Dr. Lavendar's church--"

"Good gracious!" said William King.

"They were not enough. So I used a charm. I made a drink--"

"Ah!" said the doctor, frowning. "What was in the drink, Miss Philly?"

"Perhaps it was not the right herb," she said; "it may have been
'mother-wort'; but the book said 'monk's-hood,' and I--"

William King reached for his whip and cut Jinny across the flanks.
"ACONITE!" he said under his breath, while Jinny leaped forward in
shocked astonishment.

"Will he live?" said Philippa. Dr. King, flecking Jinny again, and
letting his reins hang over the dashboard, could not help putting a
comforting arm around her. "I hope so," he said; "I hope so!" After
all, there was no use telling the child that probably by this time her
lover was either dead or getting better. "It's his own fault," William
King thought, angrily. "Why in thunder didn't he fall in love like a
man, instead of making the child resort to--G'on, Jinny! G'on!" He
still had the whip in his hand when they drew up at the gate.

CHAPTER IV

When Philippa Roberts had fled out into the night for help, her father
and old Hannah were too alarmed to notice her absence. They went
hurrying back and forth with this remedy and that. Again and again
they were ready to give up; once Henry Roberts said, "He is gone!" and
once Hannah began to cry, and said, "Poor lad, poor boy!" Yet each
made one more effort, their shadows looming gigantic against the walls
or stretching across the ceiling, bending and sinking as they knelt
beside the poor young man, who by that time was beyond speech. So the
struggle went on. But little by little life began to gain. John
Fenn's eyes opened. Then he smiled. Then he said something-they could
not hear what.

"Bless the Lord!" said Henry Roberts.

"He's asking for Philly," said old Hannah. By the time the doctor and
Philippa reached the house the shadow of death had lifted.

"It must have been poison," Mr. Roberts told the doctor. "When he gets
over it he will tell us what it was."

"I don't believe he will," said William King; he was holding Fenn's
wrist between his firm fingers, and then he turned up a fluttering
eyelid and looked at the still dulled eye.

Philippa, kneeling on the other side of John Fenn, said loudly: "I
will tell HIM--and perhaps God will forgive me."

The doctor, glancing up at her, said: "N